A Single Woman

Times were difficult for a woman with talent. The most common compliment that the men gave to the ladies when they courted them was in reference to his physical beauty. However, few men considered so wise a woman. At least, wiser than themselves. My grandmother’s eyes were the reflection clearer desire for truth and the thirst for knowledge which was on the inside.

He was a person with curiosity and concern, always endless questions, like children when they begin to question why everything he did. He never knew she was smarter than any other licensed person or doctor. When I talk to her I feel, vibro and get excited to the compass of your vital wisdom. I believe that he managed to find its way of life, totally opposite of what dreamed girl, a true vocation. She always told me that anyone who loves resigns.

And she renounced her dreams to bring forward her family. All a reward of love. Sometimes I feel that I not only came into this world with an umbilical cord linking me to my mother but also to the mother of my mother. I think I had two reasons for wanting to him; I want him for being my grandmother and be the woman who gave birth to my mother. Love is like a chain that never ends. A square circle. Something paradoxical as mysterious as life itself. I remember one day I asked him:-Grandma, are you happy? And replied surprised and energetic:-I have face if not? That was the ultimate test that calmed my concern to see my grandmother, my dear grandmother, indignant at such a question. I loved him so much sometimes suffering thinking that he was running his life in an objective different from that she wished. She was a writer. Secretly writing wonderful stories. Related stories of his childhood in Madrid with nostalgia and longing, children’s stories that almost look like Lullabies for cradling a baby in her arms to the sound of each verse and love works devoted to the person you always wanted: my grandfather.